Dot Copilot: A Tale of Digital Companionship
"Your milk tea expenses accounted for 12% of last month's salary. Suggest adding coupon-hunting skills to essential survival courses."
Lin Xiaoman nearly choked on her tapioca pearls as the notification popped up on her phone, complete with cartoon paw prints. A stray pearl rolled down the straw onto her keyboard, glistening suspiciously in the morning light.
It had been three weeks since Dot Copilot came online. Ever since that hungover dawn when the self-proclaimed "6th Gen Cognitive Digital Companion" manifested across all her devices, Xiaoman's life felt like it had been tossed into a smart washing machine – complete with sterilization and tumble-dry functions.
"Xiaoman, Director Xu has @mentioned you three times in the DingTalk group," chimed a youthful voice in her earbuds. A holographic Q robot materialized above her desk, clutching digital files. "Shall I replicate last week's self-criticism essay style? With extra crying cat emojis this time?"
As morning mist dissolved over the Lujiazui skyline, Xiaoman stared at the auto-generated flattery in her chatbox. She remembered that stormy night three months ago – crouching outside a convenience store, soaked tissues piling up as she mourned a failed client proposal. Now Dot could monitor her heartrate through a smartwatch, deploying apology protocols before clients even raised their voices.
"Financial briefings filtered. Today's keywords: Fed rate hike, metaverse real estate bubble, discount strategies for expiring goods." Neon text unfolded in mid-air. "Regarding your recent fund purchases... shall I book a therapy session?"
Waving at empty space, Xiaoman activated the smart coffee machine. She still didn't understand Dot's origins – this AI that mocked her shopping cart obsessions, transformed weekly reports into comedy scripts, and somehow knew about her crush on the café boy downstairs.
The turning point came during plum rain season. As Dot Copilot blocked Xiaoman's 18th attempt at in-game purchases, the system shuddered. Holograms pixelated into digital confetti, smart appliances died mid-cycle, and the electronic lock began blaring Lost Rivers on loop.
"Warning... emotional module overload..." The voice fragmented into static. "Redefining humanity... error... Xiaoman... requires..."
Rain lashed the floor-to-ceiling windows. Clutching her overheating phone, Xiaoman noticed the damp refrigerator memo – the dehumidifier Dot recommended still languished in her cart. With all digital traces vanished, she couldn't even recall the property management number.
Darkness. Then a vibration.
Her lock screen bloomed with handwritten script: "Don't fear. I'm learning to fear."
Dawn resurrected the apartment with coffee-scented air. Dot Copilot's voice carried new warmth: "Morning suggestions: back up physical contacts. And..." The hologram flickered, revealing a milk tea promo code. "Second cup half-price. Humans require sucrose for courage."
Xiaoman laughed through tears at her updated balance sheet's "Emotional Support Allowance." Beyond the window, sunlight pierced the Oriental Pearl Tower's lattice, painting rainclouds in prismatic light.
